Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Matias stood, fingers sliding into his pockets, and stepped out of the gazebo. He strode away with a wide gait and strong posture—shoulders back and chest out, but she hadn’t missed the stark pain in his eyes.
Her pulse quickened. She’d already given him the full unpolished recitation of her year with Van and Liv, hoping to soften his insistence for slavery. Maybe she was finally getting through to him.
Except he wasn’t the one she needed to convince.
Nico stroked a finger over the shadowed edge of his thin beard as he watched Matias walk the path to the far side of the grove, fringed by rows of lemon trees.
Matias sat on a stone bench out of hearing range, elbows braced on knees and profile angled so that he could still see her.
For the span of several heartbeats, Nico didn’t move or speak, his vacant eyes on Matias as if gazing down a long dark road. Then he blinked, straightened in the chair, and turned his attention to her.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” His tongue slid over straight white teeth. “With your tight body and your anti-slavery campaign? I see a hardcore submissive in deep denial. A well-trained cliché, trying to top from the bottom, all the while telling yourself you want no part of it. Stubbornness and fear have driven you to fight against your nature, but you’re only one hard, violent fuck away from surrender. Am I right, Camila Dias?”
Her stomach bottomed out. “No, you’re—”
“Those dark desires you try so desperately to hide beneath your quivering victim act? I see the hungry, dirty slut.” His accent thickened into a rolling drawl. “Hell, every man here sees it. And wants it.”
Ice filled her veins. This motherfucker was either blowing smoke up her ass or he paid attention a hell of a lot more than he let on.
“I’m not a slut.” She jutted her chin, hands fisting on her lap, and eyes burning with angry tears.
“You’re a slut in the most desirable way possible. How many men have you fucked, chiquita? How many dicks have left your pussy clenching for something harder, crueler, and more powerful? All those sloppy, monotonous hookups with strangers, while searching for the one who will pound you into submission, searching for anyone who will fuck your convictions into broken meaningless pieces. A search that took you all the way to Colombia, shackled as a slave in a slave trader’s bed.”
Fuck him to hell! She shook with unholy rage, her gaze skipping across the grove to Matias. He tipped his head in her direction, elbows propped on his knees, but he was too far away to make eye contact. Too far away to hear this fucked-up conversation or to stop Nico. Not that he would. A twinge of hurt stabbed through her.
“You don’t know me,” she said to Nico while keeping her gaze trained on Matias.
“No, I don’t. But Matias does, and he tells me everything.”
Her hackles went up. Matias told him all of this? Why would a cartel boss even entertain a conversation about her?
This discussion had taken a turn into Insanityville. She should’ve brought a pillow so she could bury her face in it and scream. Everything about this felt off. Yet she couldn’t stop Nico’s comments from sinking in, itching beneath her skin, and sparking a pang in her chest.
She sucked in a serrated breath. Matias should’ve been sitting beside her, not on the other side of the grove like a goddamn coward. It was as if Nico had waited until he had her alone to unleash his crazy. But why wait? He was the fucking capo. He made the rules, could do whatever he wanted, and didn’t have to explain himself to anyone. None of this made sense.
Throwing Matias a frigid stare, she returned to Nico. “Would you have said all of this in front of him? I thought you two were friends.”
“I prefer your genuine reactions, not the ones influenced by him as he breathes down your neck.” His tight grimace strained the tension in the air. “I want to talk to Camila Dias, not the woman who’s Matias’ slave.”
“No one influences my…anything.” Her voice came out small, weak. She strengthened it with a deep inhale. “No one owns me.”
“No one owns your soul. Yet. But a voluntary captive lives deep inside you, craving to be claimed, used, and fucked in every way imaginable.”
“That’s slavery, Nico.” She seethed with indignation. “A violation of basic human rights. It was a monstrosity two-hundred years ago in the south, and it still is, here, now, no matter how sexy you try to paint it. But clearly, you and Matias and your damn profit margins—”
“Now you’ve ruined it.” His scathing stare made her wilt. He didn’t even need to raise his voice.
“Ruined what?” Her throat closed up.